


Public Displays of Perfection

by WarMageCentral



Series: Young and Loaded [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Can be read as a stand alone, Cuddles in the park, Fluff, M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarMageCentral/pseuds/WarMageCentral
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it feels like they'll never get enough time together, but maybe they can have forever</p><p>(or, I'm shit at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Displays of Perfection

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a request for some Courfeyrac/Jehan fluffy cuddles so hopefully this meets expectations
> 
> Just thought I'd mention I know next to nothing about poetry but I thought these fit (if they don't please let me know so I don't look like a twat xD)  
> Unbeta'd so sorry for any typos
> 
> I hope you like it

Though he may be a Romantic, Jean Prouvaire had never been one to flaunt a relationship in public, choosing instead to keep his feelings inside, close to his heart. He would blush madly like the fair maiden people often joke he resembles if someone so much as pecked him on the cheek in a semi-crowded place. All in all, Jehan was the definition of an introverted lover.

Then along came Courfeyrac.

Now it isn’t strange at all for the pair to be walking down the street with Courf’s arm slung over his shoulders and his need to stop and pull Jehan in for a kiss at random intervals (it’s all very sweet until he does it when they’re crossing a busy road).

They had decided to go out for lunch, which turns out to be much more difficult than anticipated as they have bans from most of the local cafés for public indecency. So instead of returning home or going to their usual café the Musain to sit, they walk to the local park and sit under Courfeyrac’s favourite tree which he had lovingly dubbed “Treebeard” years ago.

They sit and they laugh and (still to Jehan’s slight mortification) they kiss but when Jehan is in the middle of making a daisy chain for his boyfriend, Courfeyrac checks his watch and shouts “ _Fuck!”_

In his shock, Jehan rips off the stem of a daisy. “What’s wrong Courf?”

Courfeyrac lets out an exaggerated sob before dramatically throwing himself into Jehan’s lap, proclaiming, “I have to meet Enjy and Ferre in an hour.”

“Courf!” Jehan shouts, lightly slapping his boyfriend’s arm, “I thought something terrible had happened!”

“Something terrible _is_ happening,” Courfeyrac insists, taking one of Jehan’s hands and entwining his fingers with his own, “I have to leave you.”

The sad puppy expression on Courfeyrac’s face still makes Jehan’s heart stutter though he still deadpans, “We’ve been with each other all day. And we do live together in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Ah, but how could I ever forget,” Courfeyrac says and brings Jehan’s hand, still in his own, to his mouth, kissing his fingers and gently nipping at a knuckle with his teeth before adding, “Especially with what we did in our living room the other day…and the kitchen…and the shower…and the--” Jehan stops him by clamping a hand over his mouth but they are both chuckling. When he lets go Courfeyrac pulls Jehan down to lay on the grass beside him and he feels himself being nestled into strong arms. “I don’t think I’ll ever have enough time with you.” Courfeyrac whispers and the feel of hot breath in his ear makes Jehan shiver, and suddenly lines of poetry come to mind, as they are wont to do around Courfeyrac.

“Love’s time’s beggar,” The words pour out of him as he nuzzles Courfeyrac’s neck. “but even a single hour,

Bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich.

We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers

Or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a grass ditch.”

Sometime during the verse Courfeyrac had started carding his fingers through Jehan’s hair but now he pauses and breathes “Is that one of yours?”

Jehan has to chuckle, though he knows that Courf has never been one for poetry (he even used to say it was a waste of time before he befriended Jehan) and probably wouldn’t recognise the poem he’s just quoted. “No, it’s Carol Ann Duffy.”

“Ah. Well it’s very fitting.” Courfeyrac muses, and Jehan hums in agreement. “But don’t think you’re the only literary genius here, Prouvaire.” When Jehan lifts his head to look incredulously at Courf he continues with a grin, “Oh yeah, I’m cultured as fuck. I know all the best love poems like… ‘Hey, you’re a crazy bitch but you fuck so good I’m on top of it--’” Jehan cuts him of by gently biting his collar bone and chuckling quietly. “No? Well what about…,” Courfeyrac suddenly unwraps one of his arms from around Jehan’s shoulders and with a finger, begins to lightly run up the length of his arm, and his voice drops to a whisper,

 

“’What shape should I take to marry your own, have you

\- Hawk to my shadow, moth to my flame - pursue me?’”

He pauses to trace along Jehan’s jawline, eyebrow, cheekbone.

“’If I rise in the east as you die in the west,

Die for my sake, my love, every night renew me.’”

Their faces are now only centimetres apart, and their breaths mingle as Courfeyrac says the last couplet in a barely audible whisper,

“’Be heaven and earth to me and I’ll be twice the me

I am, if only half the world you are to me.’”

 

When he has finished the world around them stops, and for Jehan nothing exists outside of Courfeyrac’s eyes, nothing but the feeling of being wrapped in his arms, nothing but _this_ and _now_ which feels like forever. The feeling doesn’t even dissipate when Courf gives his usual cocky grin and says, “Beat that, bitch.”

And maybe he could beat that. Dozens of poems fly through Jehan’s mind, sonnets and verses from poets dead a hundred years, thousands of adjectives to describe boyish smiles and corkscrew curls, but despite all of that, the words that fall out of Jehan’s mouth are, “I love you.”

Another moment of silence. Jehan knows that he should probably be embarrassed seeing as he and Courfeyrac have only been going out a few weeks, but they have known each other for far longer than that and it feels possible that Jehan has loved him all his life, even if he didn’t always realise it.

The silence doesn’t last. After a few seconds Courfeyrac cups Jehan’s cheek and breathes, “I love you, Jehan.” And his hold tightens and his next words come out as a broken gasp, almost a sob, “Jesus Christ, I love you so fucking much.” And suddenly Courf all but launches himself at Jehan, and when their mouths meet everything else is lost in the tangling of limbs, of tongues, of souls and Jehan knows that this can’t be a public display of affection, because there’s no one else in the world.

 

 

 

 

Unbeknownst to the couple lying under Treebeard, Combeferre had cut through the park on his way to the Musain for the meeting about the petition they were trying to organize, and sipping at his Star Bucks coffee (he’ll dump the cup before Enjolras lays eyes on it) he spots the two frolicking on the grass. He would think it’s cute if their position wasn’t as dangerously horizontal and their hands hadn’t been heading south quite so rapidly.

Sighing, he pulls out his phone and quickly calls Enjolras.

“Hey, I think Courfeyrac might be a tad late to the meeting…and he also might be about get banned from the park…”

**Author's Note:**

> Poems quoted are:  
> "Hour" by Carol Ann Duffy (Jehan)  
> "Ghazal" by Mimi Khalvati (Courf)  
> and the lyrics Courfeyrac quoted were from "Crazy Bitch" by Buckcherry
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and any feedback would be lovely.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
